


on being loved,

by frosmxths



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosmxths/pseuds/frosmxths
Summary: “You don’t need a reason to be loved, you know?”Having just gone through a break-up, Dongju struggles with being loved— struggles with himself and all he can't fix—And then he starts getting letters, letters that are familiar— letters that are so full oflove—(Dongju can't believe he deserves it.)
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Son Dongju | Xion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	on being loved,

**Author's Note:**

> special req for marcos 🖤
> 
> there is a lot of introspective... on accepting love and on falling, letting yoruself take and also fall... i really liked working on this, so I hope you like it as well

** Letter 0.  **

“You ‘re allowed to cry, you know?” Dongmyeong’s voice rings sharp through the phone. Dongju winces, holds the phone a little closer with uneven breathing.

“I know” and his voice trembles, almost breaks at the edge of words—little shattered pieces he’s desperately trying to hold together all too close to _escaping—_ “But it’s just—it’s not worth it—”

“Dongju” Dongmyeong interrupts, voice somewhere between frustrated and _sad_ —it makes Dongju want to just hand up, drop his phone somewhere in the room and just forget _forget_ _forget—_ “Don’t—don’t be so hard-headed about this, just—”

“I’m not” whiny, hand on his pocket playing with loose strings from his sweatpants as he leans back on the wall—lets his eyes focus on nothing and turn the world blurry. “It’s not a big deal, we didn’t even—we didn’t even date for long, it’s just—”

And fuck— _fuck fuck—_

His voice breaks, little patches and glue holding him together slipping and falling and leaving his everything everything _everything_ shattered and fallen apart and wounds wounds _wounds_ on his heart and thoughts so _raw—_

“It’s not even about him” Dongju breathes in sharply, pushes away from the wall, takes his hand out o his pocket ad brings it up to push his hair back—rub harshly under his glasses so his tears stay stay _stay_ and just don’t fucking come _out—(_ and it’s a losing battle, he knows, he knows all too well—but he’s also so _stubborn_ and he hates hates _hates_ himself his feelings his thoughts his—). “He was nice, you know, he’s really nice and—”

“Dongju” Again again _again_ Dongmyeong’s voice cuts him off—cuts through his thoughts and makes him _choke_ —fall to sit on the floor with a hiccup that escapes his lips and with vision that turns turns turns to _nothing—_ blurs with tears tears _tears_ he refuses to acknowledge refuses to feel refuses refuses _doesn’t_ _want to—_ “It doesn’t have to be about him”

Dongju doesn’t reply—can’t reply, even, thoughts all too scattered and every piece of himself drowning drowning in an ocean of self-hatred and questions and _and—_

“Why am I not enough?” a whisper—something broken and out out into the air—a question he doesn’t want an answer to because because because—

Because he _knows_ —he knows knows _knows_ his own flaws and his issues and mistakes and—

A sob breaks out of him—another—another—tears a burning path down his face and phone clutched close _close—_

He doesn’t want to cry—he doesn’t want to cry he didn’t want to cry he doesn’t want to feel feel feel like there’s no way to be loved and like he’s doing everything _everything_ wrong and and and _and and—_

“Do you want me to go over?” Soft—Dongmyeong’s voice so _kind_ as it reaches Dongju’s ears—quiet over Dongju’s own sniffles and crying _crying_ that echoes off the wall like a cruel _cruel_ spectacle.

“Please”

____

“You’ve been coming over a lot more recently” Youngjo’s voice is just a little teasing, yet as kind as ever. Dongju gives him a shrug, picks up a puzzle piece from the little pile on table in front of him.

“Home’s boring” the piece sides into place with a quiet _clack,_ Dongju’s finger careful as it moves away—hovers over the scattered pieces still throw over glass.

_Home’s boring_ —yeah, that much is true—but really, he just doesn’t want to be alone. Dongmyeong has work, has to move around and practice with his band—has long hours where he can barely breath past the thrill of _music_ —Dongju doesn’t want to be even more of a bother, doesn’t want to take away from his time anymore just because he’s _moping_ after he got dumped.

Youngjo’s home is close, and Youngjo works from home—so Dongju’s not making him stay or leave any more than he would anyway—

Youngjo’s home is close and Dongju has a spare key he got from Youngjo about a year ago (“You always show up at the weirdest times” as he handed the little key and keychain over. “I know you get lonely, so”), he can make himself at home anytime—

He knows he’s always welcome.

(And Youngjo’s always so _kind—_ spoils Dongju with nice food and hugs whenever Dongju asks for them. He’s kind and lets Dongju do whatever he wants, lets Dongju take over his bed and never pries— always listens and only takes as much as Dongju is willing to let him take without ever asking for more.

Youngjo’s kind, safe—

Dongju likes being with him, it helps him stop thinking.)

Youngjo gives him a little laugh after shrugging off his jacket, walks over to the small centre table in the room that Dongju has decided is _his_ spot whenever he comes over.

“You’re almost done again?” he drops down on the couch right next to where Dongju’s sitting on the floor—Dongju picks up another piece of the puzzle, pouts.

“Yeah” he snaps the piece into place, mindlessly picks up another and lets it fall next to the previous one. “Lost a few pieces, though”

“Oh” Youngjo gives him a quiet hum, smiles. “I can get you a new one tomorrow, then?” As he runs a hand through Dongju’s hair—Dongju leans into the touch with a hum of his own, gives Youngjo a half-hearted shrug.

“If you want” Youngjo doesn’t reply to that, only keeps carding his fingers through Dongju’s hair absent-mindedly.

There’s silence—little snaps of puzzle pieces into place much like a quiet lullaby.

“I’m hungry” Dongju’s voice breaks the silence—something pouty and quiet as he searches for the piece he wants. Youngjo laughs again, this time just a little louder than earlier, ruffles Dongju’s hair a little roughly—Dongju whines, drops the piece he had been looking for in place and turns around, reaches out for Youngjo’s hand to try and _bite—_

He manages (even if only because Youngjo always lets him get away with everything), teeth more than a little playful as they dig into Youngjo’s finger a little painfully—Youngjo doesn’t complain. He only laughs more—laughs and pulls his finger half-heartedly until Dongju lets go with a frown—

And then Youngjo pushes Dongju’s bangs back with care, wipes his finger with his other hand.

“What do you wanna eat?”

Dongju places the final piece with a snap and thinks.

____

** Letter 1. **

It’s not that Dongju’s been moping (he has), but he’s definitely been feeling more than a little down for a few days—has been calling Dongmyeong more often and has been completing and redoing every single puzzle he’s taken to Youngjo’s house and even the new ones that Youngjo had bought for him—he’s completed all of them over and over and over again.

It’s not that he needs a distraction besides his usual—not that he needs to actually think about something else instead of ignoring the fact that he has thoughts at all—It’s really not like that.

But, when the receptionist at his apartment building tells him that he has a letter—anonymous and contained in a paper envelope riddled with flowers—Dongju finds that the mystery o it helps him get his mind off his post-breakup misery.

He didn’t _need_ a distraction, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

(“The sender asked to keep them a secret” the old man behind the messy reception desk had said, fond smile on his lips as he slid the pretty paper over to Dongju. “They said to let you know you’re friends, though”

Dongju _had_ found it more than a little suspicious—not to mention almost _dangerous_ —but the receptionist has insisted the sender was trustworthy—that he’d seen them together with Dongju more than a couple times, had chatted with them more than once, too—they were just also really shy.)

And now, here he sits, legs crossed on his bed and pretty letter paper in his hands. There are purple roses scattered around the two pages of the letter, no doubt hand-drawn in pretty purple inks. The handwriting itself is pretty, too—a little round and small, neatly written in black ink—

Dongju can’t help feeling he _knows_ it—can’t help feeling he’s seen it countless times before—can’t help feeling the little roses and characters _familiar—_

He can’t figure it out —doesn’t want to let himself figure out _why_ —so he chooses to ignore his thoughts again, chooses to lock them away and focus on only what’s in his hands right now.

He breathes in, stretches the small papers, runs his fingers over pretty calligraphy and lets himself _focus—_

_Dearest Dongju_ , it starts.

> _Sorry for being so mysterious about this, but I’m just a little shy… and, well, I want you to feel my honesty, too? Something like that. Beyond my identity or what I might be thinking, I merely want you to feel loved, feel how much I love you… and feel how lovely you are, for me and for everyone around you._
> 
> _So, maybe being mysterious felt like the best?_
> 
> _I don’t really think I could pinpoint how you’ve been feeling lately, but I can definitely, at least, say that I’ve seen you’ve been down… so I wanted to tell you about what I love about you. Maybe it can brighten your day even a little bit? I love seeing you smile, so I hope I can make you smile._
> 
> _That’s actually the first thing I l0ve about you: your smile. More than the bright sun during the day, your smile is much like the beauty of the moon instead, were you aware?_
> 
> _Lately I’ve been seeing you so much more, but you’ve been smiling so much less… it’s like my nights have lost all their light, like the path before me is shrouded in darkness and without a guide._
> 
> _Really, your smile shines oh so brightly for me. It always takes in so much joy and shares it with everyone else… it’s like some sort of magic. If you laugh, I can’t help laughing, too, because you show me light like that._
> 
> _It’s such a beautiful smile, I really can’t help being in love with it a little more every day. The way it lights up the world, lights up your eyes and mine… You always smile so brightly, so open for the world to see and share with you._
> 
> _It makes me want nothing more than to see you smile forever._
> 
> _Be it that heart-shaped, wide smile of yours… or even those smaller, hidden ones that lightly paint your beautiful features…_
> 
> _I really do love them all._
> 
> _Up next… I really love your laugh, too. I love the way it takes over your face, your expression, the way it makes you fall over with mirth, how your voice leaves your lips so bright and kind you might as well be an angel._
> 
> _Your voice, the sound of it, is such a beautiful melody…_
> 
> _And, ah, that’s the very last thing today: your voice… It’s so beautiful. One I could listen to until the end of time and more… I already said it, but you really might as well be an angel, part of the most beautiful of heavenly choirs… your songs all perfection, full of warmth and kindness that warms up the world…_
> 
> _Your voice is like that, a beautiful choir, something so rich and smooth, so beautiful in all your human beauty. It makes me feel like I’m closer to peace, somehow, closer to finding rest and calm in this world of ours._
> 
> _Your voice holds all of the world’s beauty. You hold all of the world’s beauty… you, your smile, your voice, your laugh… everything beautiful and bright in this world can’t compare to you._
> 
> _I hope you can see that one day, I hope I can help you realize this… can help you know and see everything beautiful that you’ve always been._
> 
> _I hope you can see how beautiful you are. How lovely and perfect you are in your flaws, in everything that makes you, you._
> 
> _I’ll stop here for today. I hope I’m not coming off too intense? Sometimes I can’t measure things like that… I’m only good at expressing myself in this way, with these words and truths from ink… so I hope they don’t scare you off…_
> 
> _You’re really beautiful, the loveliest in the world. Please keep on smiling, as best as you can._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Your beautiful rose._

His brain spins—spins with a thousand thoughts and words words words _words_ and feelings that he simply doesn’t _want—_

_What the fuck—_

_What the fuck was that? Who the hell would send that? What kind of messed up prank—_

He tosses the papers on his bed, jumps to his feet with the world blurry and eyes unseeing _unseeing—_ with shaky limbs and pressure at the back of his eyes and something that crawls up his trachea and spills out his lips—

He’s crying.

There are tears in his eyes and it’s so fucking _hard_ to breathe and his chest does turns turns _turns_ as he clutches at his shirt and thinks feels feels thinks thinks _thinks_ _so much._

He rubs at his eyes, harsh, rubs at his nose with his sleeve and covers his mouth in something something _something_ like an attempt to hold back tears—hold back breaking sobs that wreck his throat and _hurt—_

But he _can’t—_ can’t stop the tears and can’t stop sobs that are loud loud _loud_ as they suffocate him—can’t stop himself from shaking with broken breathing and can’t stop himself from just falling to the _floor,_ knees to hard wood and glasses digging into his face as he _just_ —

He just _cries—_ something raw and out of control as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and shakes because because _because—_

Because he can’t—can’t find it in himself to believe, to feel, to _deserve_ being loved like that—being loved in such an open way, being loved so purely and so _honestly—_

And he wants to believe—and he repeats to himself, nails digging into his scalp as he tries to catch his breath— that it’s all a _lie,_ that it’s all someone playing with his emotions, someone who’s seen him broken down and wants to _laugh—_

But he _can’t_.

He can’t believe that, not when it’s honest ink to paper and _not_ when it’s written so _so_ adoringly—written in familiar words and handwriting, in familiar pens and ink and with familiar drawings and _roses_ and—

He _knows—_ knows the honesty to every word and line on the paper—knows that this isn’t a prank, and this isn’t lies and—

And that just makes him cry _harder_ , hands to his chest as he curls into himself with closed eyes, breathing all but forgotten as he cries and thinks and cries and feels and feels and _feels—_

_Why can’t he be enough—_ but to this person he’s enough.

_Why is it that he’s always wrong—_ but to this person he’s not.

_Why isn’t he someone to be loved—_ but to this person he is.

He’s someone to be loved, someone beautiful and enough enough _enough_ where Dongju feels he lacks in—someone beautiful and precious and someone—

Someone _worth it._

Dongju wants to believe that.

But Dongju can’t believe that—he knows it’s honest, but he can’t—can’t believe that, can’t believe in _himself_ and he can’t believe in beauty in someone like—

He pushes himself to his feet, quiet sniffles as he walks back to the bed, grabs the letter in shaky hands and breathes—

It brings a fresh wave of tears, a fresh wave of thoughts thoughts _thoughtsthoughts_ — thoughts about loving thoughts about being loved and thoughts about who _who who is it who is it why would he why would Youngjo—_

He throws his thoughts away, rejection and wilful blindness that overtakes and slips and drowns drowns _drowns—_

He holds pretty ink and paper close to his chest, falls on his side on the bed, breathes—

(He falls asleep like that—thoughts ignored and thrown to the back of his head—thrown where he can’t see, can’t _feel—_

He falls asleep with the letter held close to his heart; falls asleep with the smallest, smallest smile on his face.)

____

He puts the letter into a folder, places it carefully over class notes and under readings he’s had to print out.

He puts the letter and folder in his bag, and he refuses to think about it anymore.

____

“What’s that?” Dongju walks into Youngjo’s living room like it’s his own, bag slung over one of his shoulders and hands in the pockets of his jeans. Youngjo looks up from the couch, head cocked to the side and laptop placed neatly on his lap.

“That?” his voice is light as he closes his laptop carefully, sets it aside when Dongju throws his bag on the floor and drops on the couch next to him.

“On the table” he points a lazy finger at the centre table, shoulder resting against Youngjo’s and fluffy hair a complete mess. “That”

“Oh” as Youngjo runs a hand through Dongju’s hair, pushes him forward—only enough that he can comb through Dongju’s hair mindlessly, pull at the hair tie around Dongju’s wrist to tie it up. “Colouring books? You don’t let me use yours, so”

“So,” Dongju blinks, leans his head back and lets his eyes close. “Why?”

“You’re here a lot more lately” as Youngjo finishes, gives Dongju’s head a pat and lets him fall on his shoulder again. “Figured I could sit with you here, whenever I’m free”

Dongju doesn’t reply—only lets himself rest with a quiet hum, thinks about the letter, thinks about nothing, thinks about Youngjo, thinks about—

“You don’t have to” and Youngjo hums, too, scratches softly at the back of Dongju’s neck with a shrug.

“I want to” and he holds Dongju closer—lets Dongju climb on his lap. Dongju huffs, playfully bites at Youngjo’s shoulder before he settles and takes out his phone—Youngjo laughs, all sweet and caring, gives Dongju a quick kiss on the cheek—

Dongju recoils, nearly falls of the couch, complains loud _loud_ but stays there—stays where it’s safe—stays where he’s _loved—_

He doesn’t mention the letter, and Youngjo doesn’t, either—they simply go on like every day, every night—

And Dongju pretends he doesn’t know who the letter’s by—Dongju pretends and convinces himself, convinces himself that it’s not Youngjo, it’s not this, it’s not real, it’s not—

It doesn’t make sense, but Dongju doesn’t want to _see._

_______

** Letter 2. **

It’s been a week since the first letter, and Dongju has done his best to pretend it never happened.

(But he still keeps it, of course, precious and tucked between class notes and useless thoughts—even if he doesn’t spare it any thought or time of the day, even if he doesn’t unravel threads that tangle in his thoughts and feelings.)

He doesn’t question Youngjo, doesn’t question himself—doesn’t ask why and doesn’t look at the letter for too long— doesn’t question all the words of love or adoration.

He doesn’t question anything, and simply moves on with his life.

It’s not too hard—maybe because he’s so used to running, to colouring and assembling puzzles until his thoughts were nothing but fuzzy fuzzy _mist—_ but then there’s a second letter, and suddenly everything is back like an avalanche, loud and painful as his world is shrouded with tears.

(“It’s from the same person” as the old receptionist handed him an ash-coloured paper envelope with a sticker of a black cat to keep it sealed. “They still want to remain hidden, though” and a little smile.

Dongju felt his throat dry—felt his eyes sting even as he whispered out a _thank you_ , took the letter in hands that might’ve been shaking too much and threw a crooked smile at the receptionist—

And then he had run, desperate hands to the elevator buttons as he simply tried to _not think—)_

Just like last time, the paper is riddled with doodled on roses—this time with a little rabbit and a cat in the same purple ink, the same neat paper and the same pretty handwriting.

He doesn’t want to read it—maybe because he fears being loved, fears the honesty of pretty words and fears the way they could shatter and mend his heart all the same—

So, he doesn’t read it until he’s called Dongmyeong over, sat him down on Dongju’s bed and against the wall, eyes curious and more than a little worried—

Dongju breathes, unfolds the papers and drops them on the bed in front of them.

_Dearest Dongju_ , it reads, much like last time.

> _Did my first letter arrive to you safely? The kind old man at the reception desk said he handed it over, but since I have no way of knowing if you’ve read it… I’ll believe that you did? It’s a little embarrassing to think back on what I wrote, but it was all honest, so I don’t regret sending it at all._
> 
> _I’ve been seeing you so much this last week, too, I wonder if it’s because you’ve been feeling a little lonely? You never say things like that, but I can tell… I hope you don’t mind that I stay a little closer for now._
> 
> _Last time I told you I loved your smile, that’s still true… Every time I get to see you smile, it’s like the world turns just a little brighter with your light… grows more beautiful every time…_
> 
> _I hope it made you smile, did it? I want to tell you more things I love about you today, if you’ll allow me?_

Dongju tries to stop reading—tries to throw the letter aside and pretend he’s _fine_ even if he locks himself up in the bathroom and cries until his throat is raw—

But Dongmyeong doesn’t let him—pats at Dongju’s hair and gives him a careful look, brings his eyes back to the letter and back to his thoughts.

> _This time, more than something physical… I want to talk about you, about your kindness, how cute and sweet you are._
> 
> _You don’t really like to show it, I can tell, and you’re always playful instead, even demanding for attention… but you’re really kind, even if you like being spoiled and asking from others…_
> 
> _You’re always willing to listen, to lend your heart to others and give them so much love and attention… you’re so loving, even when demanding, and you make the world so much happier._
> 
> _I notice, you know, how even when you come into my house uninvited you make sure to not be a bother… always sit at the side in silence and listen to me when I complain about work._
> 
> _It makes home feel more like home, to have you there, to have your warmth and energy… you’re always willing to help em get my mind off things, or to help me talk it out when I’m stressed… even though you’re younger, you take such good care of me ^^;; I wonder if that’s a bother… am I a bad hyung? I’m bad at giving, much like you, and yet you manage to make me feel at ease… help me out with house chores even if you don’t have to hehe sometimes you even remind me of my laundry… you don’t even live here, but you take care of me, even when you demand I spoil you and take care of you.._
> 
> _It’s cute… your heart is cute, I think… something so precious and frail… I wish I could hold it in my hands, sometimes, and keep it safe from everything in the world._
> 
> _Or, well, from everything in your own mind… You’re kind, but you’re not someone weak, you can put up a front and defend yourself… you’re really strong like that, and I admire it, you know? Against others it’s like you’re unbeatable, but against yourself… fighting yourself is hard, isn’t it? I wish I could take it all away… your self-doubts, your fears, all those bad thoughts._
> 
> _I wish I could take them away, even if only for a day, just enough for you to be at peace for a little bit… and then you could fight them again, even stronger, just like you always have :)_
> 
> _You’re such a strong and kind person, I feel like I can learn and gain a lot from you, even by just being by your side haha_
> 
> _I’m not very good at words this week, I wonder if it’s because I’m a little more embarrassed now? I haven’t been sleeping all that well either, I’ve been worrying a lot… Sorry this is a little messy and even short, but I wanted to write you something no matter what! So here I am hahaha ^^;;_
> 
> _I hope you know how kind and precious you are, I hope you can remember it._
> 
> _I hope you know, too, that I love you very much._
> 
> _I know things are hard, but I hope you can keep on smiling… even just a little, because you deserve it._
> 
> _With all my heart,_
> 
> _Your beautiful rose._

“I don’t _understand_ ” Dongju’s voice _shakes_ —shakes with feelings and thoughts and everything everything turning and turning and turning _and_ — “I don’t—don’t know who it—” a choked breath, hands to his hair as he brings his knees up to his chest, lets his forehead rest against them. “I don’t know _why_ ”

“Dongju” Dongmyeong moves—Dongju sees him pick the papers up carefully, leave them aside all purple and pretty—kneels in front of Dongju with a quiet sigh. “You don’t need a reason to be loved, you know?”

“I _know_ ” Dongju chokes, words all shattered into little shards that scratch scratch _scratch_ and burn— “I know that, just—I don’t—” and he can’t _breathe_ , can’t breathe through so _so_ many things that just _won’t stop turning—_ “This isn’t—”

“This isn’t right?” Dongmyeong slides Dongju’s glasses off his face, places them to the side— Dongju breathes out, not affirmation or denial, rubs at his eyes and nose with shaky hands and _hides—_ “You can’t say that” and his tone is just a little scolding—scolding and all too kind as he hits at Dongju’s head lightly, lets out a laugh that’s between worried and _sad._ “You can’t say that when someone’s being so honest”

“Why _me?_ ” drowned in tears and unsteady _everything—_ drowned in self-doubts and self-mockery he repeats repeats _repeats—_ “Who would even love _me_?”

“Didn’t he tell you why?” Dongju sobs, holds himself closer. Dongmyeong sighs, playfully ruffles Dongju’s hair before pulling him in for a hug. “You know who it is, don’t you?” Dongju doesn’t reply—doesn’t do anything but fall, fall into the hug and bury his face against Dongmyeong and bury bury _bury_ his thoughts _and_ — “There’s plenty about you to love”

“That’s because—” a sob, a playful jab at Dongmyeong’s side that he ignores. “because you’re my brother, you can say that because—”

“No” Dongmyeong rests his head on top of Dongju’s, playfully sets his weight down and squeezes him closer—Dongju only whines in complaint, doesn’t push away, doesn’t push closer, doesn’t _move—_ “As your brother, I can say you’re annoying as hell, you know?” a huff, playful and coloured with delicate laughter— “There’s a lot about you, and there’s a lot to love, too, idiot”

And Dongju wants to deny that—wants to deny that he’s someone worthy of being loved and worthy of so much _affection—_

But he _can’t—_ not because he believes it, but because everything has just been so _honest—_

(“Shut up” Dongmyeong only laughs in reply, holds Dongju closer with a hum—something playful as he squeezes Dongju’s cheeks before tickling him, thoughts all forgotten as he tries to process process _process_ and laughs—

He can’t really breathe like this, but, at the same time, it all comes a lot easier than before.)

____

Neither of them says the name—neither of them mentions Youngjo—and Dongju goes on with his days—

He’s scared, just a little bit, of pushing Youngjo away—

So, he pretends he doesn’t know, doesn’t see—pretends things are like they’ve always been, even if his brain is a mess and it’s chaos—even if he goes to Youngjo over and over again, asks to be spoiled as he lets himself fall.

(“You’ve been sleeping over a lot” Youngjo talks over the discarded colouring books on the table, over the puzzle pieces that litter the surface as Dongju looks deep in thought.

“I guess” absent-minded as Dongju lets another piece fall into place, puzzle not even halfway to completion and everything scattered out of reach.

“It’s nice” Youngjo runs a hand through Dongju’s hair, softly pats at his cheek with a light laugh. “I’m glad I can help”

“You don’t” a playful scoff as Dongju rolls his eyes, lets himself fall against Youngjo’s touch even so. “You’re a pain”

“Sure” Youngjo gives him a pat, Dongju picks up another piece, drops it in place and sighs—

He doesn’t say _thank you_ , doesn’t say anything else—only lets his weight fall on Youngjo’s, lets warmth and words he doesn’t want to think about turn and turn and _turn—_ )

He pretends he doesn’t know for another week, talks to Dongmyeong until his throat is raw—talks and stumbles and falls—thinks about being loved, thinks about what he thinks he _deserves—_

(“You deserve to be loved” a half-smile, a hit at Dongju’s forehead. “Even if you don’t love yourself.”)

The letters burn between class notes—burn in his notebook when he moves them over—burn in his thoughts until he can’t sleep—

(The letters had said they hoped to make him smile, Dongju thinks, notebook over his chest and eyes on white ceiling—the _rose_ had wanted to make Dongju smile—

And Dongju does, somehow, with thoughts and doubts—with words and self-hatred that burns to the core—Dongju smiles a little more, on his own, and thinks about being loved.)

Dongju wants to believe, still, that he’s someone to be loved—that he’s someone that deserves this, deserves affection and pretty words—

Dongju wants to believe—so he learns to _take_ , just a little bit, just like he takes everything else.

Dongju can be loved—

(Dongju doesn’t _need_ to deserve being loved, does he?)

_____

** Letter 3. **

A week and a half, and there’s a letter at the reception again—one Dongju takes in careful hands and with whispered gratitude, one that tickles and burns all the same on his way to the elevator and into his apartment.

A week and a half, and Dongju’s still afraid, still turning and turning with pain on his wrists from running away—from leaving his thoughts hidden under puzzle pieces and pretty colours that escape lines and limits.

A week and a half, and now he’s at home, back against the closed door and letter held much too tightly in his hands—

(The handwriting is still familiar, the little rose next to his name, the purple ink—

And the affection, too—

It’s all familiar.)

A week and a half, and he’s still in denial.

A week and a half, and he’s _still_ —

He shoves the letter inside a notebook, the notebook inside his bag—keeps his bag slung over his shoulder as he leaves his apartment again, ignores lunch that’s way too late and _runs—_

______

> _Dearest Dongju,_
> 
> _Did my second letter also arrive to you safely, I wonder? I did not get to ask this time, work has been a little busy, but I’ll trust it was handed over safely… I was pondering over sending another letter. It’s not that I’d run out of words, I don’t think I ever would… to describe how lovely you are, that is, but maybe I’d start going in circles… that’s a little embarrassing…_
> 
> _Well, maybe all these letters have been embarrassing, but they’ve been honest, so I still don’t regret them at all._
> 
> _Third time’s the charm, I guess? So this is my last letter. I hope it helps to make you smile, again, just like you deserve._
> 
> _What have I note talked over, I wonder? I don’t have my own letters here to reread, and with all these thoughts things can get a little confused…_
> 
> _Ah, did I tell you about your passions, maybe? Maybe not… I love that about you, too… how you give it your all, so organized and precise, and keep going towards your goals and aspirations… how you don’t give up without trying, even when it’s frustrating…_
> 
> _I think you’re very strong. Sometimes I see myself in you, but maybe that’s a little conceited? I’ve never thought of myself as all that admirable like that, but when it’s about you… I can’t help but see you as someone strong, truly… So willing to face hardships and falls…_
> 
> _I know you’ve had dreams you’ve had to give up on… but even that, I love. I love you for finding your own path, and for moving forward even when things got so painful and hard…_
> 
> _I remember you told me you wanted to be a singer… do you remember that? Or an actor… I remember you told me you gave it your all, even when it was painful… and I remember you told me that, even though it didn’t work out, you were happy you gave it a go._
> 
> _When you told me that… I really thought like, woah, he’s so cool… haha something like that… To be able to face what you let go, and still move forward, or to be able to know who you could be, even past left behind dreams…_
> 
> _It’s really hard, but seeing you smile and try your best through it, for a dream you’ve captured and made your own now…_
> 
> _I think you’re really amazing… sometimes I think about if maybe, somewhere out there, if there’s another path and another world where we could both follow that same dream… if maybe we could’ve gone for it together? It’s not impossible, right?_
> 
> _Dreams are so precious and important… I admire you, for not giving up, for trying, for moving on…_
> 
> _Just for being here, I guess? I don’t know what I’m saying anymore haha… I love that you’re here, is all. I love that you’re in my life, with everything about yourself… all those flaws and the way you stumble…_
> 
> _I wish, still, for you to know how much about you there is to love… that’s the main thing. I know you don’t think too highly of yourself, I know that you struggle a lot… and I know it’s been hard, and you’re not too good at asking for help, sometimes…_
> 
> _But I’m always here to help you, you know? And I’m always here to love you, no matter what._
> 
> _Because I love you, just that simple… just like that! I love everything about you, even when you’re spoiled and ask me for too many things, and I love that I can be someone for you, even if quietly…_
> 
> _I’ve… really been tired this week, but you’ve been a little happier, smiling more… I’m glad, really._
> 
> _It’s maybe a little foolish to pour my feelings like this… I’m not even that mysterious, am I?_
> 
> _Won’t you let me love you from now on too?_
> 
> _With all my heart and love,_
> 
> _Your beautiful rose_

____

> _Do you remember that?_

Of course Dongju does.

Dongju _remembers_ — remembers when he told Youngjo about childish aspirations and struggles—remembers when he told Youngjo about how he’d always felt like he was chasing his brother’s shadow, how he ended up giving up, because it simply didn’t work out—

Of course he remembers, because there’s no one else he’d trusted that to—no one else but Hwanwoong, over cut-off phone calls and between schedules the other slipped out from to give Dongju a hug—

Of course he remembers—remembers sitting on Youngjo’s bed and shrugging off words of care as he talked and talked and _talked_ about everything he hated—talked until his throat hurt and his tears stung stung _stung_ and until Youngjo pat him on the head, like always, and told him it was okay—

> _I’m not even that mysterious, am I?_

Right from the start, there was never any mystery, was there?

Right from the start, all there was was _denial—_ denial of being so loved, the feeling of being so undeserving, the feeling of not being enough, of not being someone worth _loving—_

Not like this, not this much—

Right from the start, Dongju was scared—Scared to let himself be loved, scared to see himself tripping and breaking again again _again—_

Scared to trust and believe—because no one could really love him like that, right? Because Youngjo is always so honest, so _pure_ in his love—there was no way this was _him,_ because—

Because _why_ would Youngjo love him so _much—?_

_Won’t you let me love you from now on too?_

Dongju doesn’t need to deserve it.

Dongju doesn’t need to deserve being loved—Dongju doesn’t need to believe he deserves being loved—

Dongju only needs to _be._

(“I’m scared” Dongju bites his lip, phone to his ear and back to the door—on the other end of the line, with a little sigh and the sting of tears, Dongmyeong gives him a laugh.

“It’s okay, Dongju” and Dongju breathes in—holds the phone closer, hugs himself closer—breathes out, shaky and— “It’s okay to be scared”

“What if I’m—what if I fuck things up? What if I just—”

“You won’t” and Dongju sobs—something frustrated and frail frail _frail—_ “Dongju, you won’t, it’s okay”

“How do you know”

“Because you’re loved, silly”)

_____

“I’m hungry” as Dongju places another puzzle piece in place, sitting down on Youngjo’s carpeted floor, as usual. “When are you free?”

“Right now” Youngjo’s voice comes with a light laugh, a hand to Dongju’s hair and quiet music from discarded headphones. “You wanna order something?”

“No” Dongju pouts, lets another piece fall—lets his eyes dart to the few pieces left, three or four scattered over the small glass table. “You order”

And Youngjo ruffles Dongju’s hair, clicks something on his laptop with an amused _okay,_ eyes scanning over options and free hand now tapping at his phone.

Dongju feels the letters burn, tucked away safely on his bag, and breathes—

“What would you like to eat, though—”

“Hyung?” Dongju cuts him off, falls back against Youngjo’s knees, eyes fixed on the table.

Youngjo goes quiet, Dongju breathes out, again—

“Thank you” quiet, almost a whisper—and Youngjo makes a little noise, something confused that turns turns _turns_ much like Dongju’s thoughts—

He reaches for the letters, careful, quiet—and Youngjo breathes in sharply, tense tense _tense_ against Dongju and—

“You did make me smile” still quiet, still careful _careful—_ Dongju turns, then, looks up at Youngjo with a little smile and with eyes that start to _burn—_ “A lot, really”

“Oh” Youngjo seems to recoil, laptop closed and hands to his lap—tense and all too nervous and eyes so _wide— “_ I’m—I’m glad, then”

“Yeah” Dongju laughs, breathy and a little unsure, drops the letters on the couch with a shrug— “I’m sorry, too—”

“You don’t—”

“I want to.” Dongju gives him a pout—Youngjo does stop, eyes a little too open and lips parted in worry.

A breath—a second— And then Dongju smiles again, leans back on the couch and a little closer to Youngjo’s warmth.

“I wasn’t enough for myself, or for love—well, not for myself, but” he lets his eyes close, leans closer still—breathes out shaky and bubbling with something like laughter. “You’re so cheesy, you made me feel happy—” and he grips at Youngjo’s pants, all too nervous and all too _much— “_ And— like I can be loved, too… like I can just… _be_ ”

Dongju doesn’t notice he’s crying until Youngjo’s hand is on his hair, kind as it runs through tangled strands—kind as it falls in a kind pat to his head, a touch to his forehead—

“I didn’t want to—to believe it was you, I guess” a shrug, a sniffle as Dongju rubs at his face and laughs—wet and fallen, a little shattered, a little mended— “Because you’re so honest, you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“I wouldn’t” breathed out—and Dongju looks up, then, catches Youngjo’s eyes and _smiles—_

“I knew that, so” a little shrug, another sniffle—a giggle and more and more tears— “I didn’t want to see that it was you, ‘cause then it’d mean that I could be loved”

“You can be loved” pained, a little broken, too—Dongju laughs, hides his face against Youngjo’s leg—all too uncomfortable and yet safe safe _safe—_ “Dongju, there’s so much about you to love, you _can_ be loved, you—”

“Thank you” and Dongju can’t think of _words_ anymore—can’t bring himself to say anything anything _anything_ that’s not a repeat _repeat_ of thank you until his throat goes raw—can’t bring himself to stop crying until everything hurts and he can’t breathe _and_ — “Thank you so much”

And then there’s silence—there’s Youngjo’s breath of laughter as he pulls Dongju up, lets Dongju cry cry _cry_ against his chest with careful hands to his hair and silence _silence—_

(And Dongju still can’t love himself—still can’t believe he deserves to be loved, not always—and, sometimes, he still can’t let himself _be—_

And Youngjo can’t _fix_ that—

But he doesn’t need to—

Because there’s nothing to _fix_ , there’s nothing that’s broken or fallen apart—there’s only a lot to love, and a lot to _give—_

There’s only existing like this, there’s only learning and moving forward—

There’s only Dongju, and Youngjo loves him—just like that, soft and simple—

There’s only Dongju, who falls until he can’t see anything but dark dark _dark_ in the void in front of him and far behind—who does his best, and who’s just—

_Here._

And that’s enough—)

They end up ordering what Dongju wants, anyway, because Youngjo insists—because Youngjo wants to see him smile, even if it’s just over his favourite food—

And Dongju sits against Youngjo until he falls asleep—and the puzzle pieces are still scattered, and maybe some are still lost—and it’s all incomplete—

But it’s fine, because it’s still good— because it’s still lovely, and it’s still _fine—_

And Dongju’s still cracked, and his heart isn’t healed—but he’s still lovely, just as he is—

(“It’s okay to have doubts” with fingers carding through Dongju’s hair, Dongju’s head on Youngjo’s lap and eyes closed— “Or to feel bad—I’ll be here to tell you I love you, anytime”

And Dongju laughs—loud and embarrassed—hides against Youngjo’s middle and tries to pretend he’s not smiling.

“You’re so corny” another laugh, a quiet sniffle that Dongju tries to mask— “You’re killing me”

“I’m not” a kiss to Dongju’s temple—a noise of complaint even as Dongju moves closer— “I’m _loving_ you, Dongju”

“Gross,” a laugh, a weak bite at Youngjo’s hand— “You’re gross”

“If it’s for you” a kiss to Dongju’s forehead, a hand to his cheek “then I’ll be gross anytime”

Another bite, another laugh—another whisper of _thank you_ that Dongju hides away, a little treasure to keep safe—

A little _thank you_ for being loved, for being here—

A thank you, for letting Dongju be someone to be _loved—_ )

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to dahlia for helpin me look this over T T 
> 
> this can be read as platonic as well as romantic.... its up to you, and how you wish to interpret it!
> 
> thank you marcos for letting me work on this for him c:
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)


End file.
